Ashes
August 14th, 2553, Reach A harsh wind howled through the valley, invisible to the eye save for the small grey flecks that were cast aloft by the current. Ash particles swirled and spun in the air for a few moments before tumbling away from the tug of the wind and slowly drifted back down to the rocky ground below. The valley floor, once enveloped in thick layers of permafrost and snow, now easily camouflaged the ashes that settled on its broken, charred surface. Where a vibrant world had once shown its verdant splendor, only ruination remained—less than a shadow of what Reach had been. No echoes of life here, not even the whispering of ghosts; the ashes flew in search of a memory they would never find. An armoured gauntlet reached out and brushed the fluttering particles aside. Jun grunted quietly in irritation as his gesture caused a few specks of ash to attach themselves to his visor. Wordlessly, he trekked on across the desolate valley floor; the sound of his boots against the cracked stone echoed briefly before they were subdued by the overbearing silence of the deserted mountains once more. He had never thought of Reach as home. It never held that special place in his heart the way it had for all the SPARTAN-IIs that had grown up here. In fact, he had never even set foot on the planet until the weeks leading up to the battle. And even during the battle itself, it had only been another objective for him, another colony to defend against the Covenant. So why did I want to come here first? He knew why. A great beast had died here, a juggernaut larger in scale than any warship ever designed by human hands. He could see the wreckage now as he approached the distant mountains; what had once been a fearsome Covenant supercarrier was now nothing more than scrap metal strewn into countless pieces. It had been cut in half by a Slipspace rupture, and then was torn apart as it fell through Reach’s gravity well, before it finally rained down on the planet in flaming meteors. Even now, with the war over and the threat of the Covenant receded into the shadows, Jun could still remember how the mere thought of one of their supercarriers could make his blood run cold. A hinge-head or a Brute, well, them you could take out from a thousand yards, set a land mine for them to step on. Or if worst came to worst, snap their necks or drive a knife into their chest. The alien infantry and armor, he could handle. Any Spartan could. But armor, augmentations, and firearms were useless against floating cities that deflected MAC shells and breathed plasma fire. Spartans always won on the ground, but they could never take the battle into space. That was the old, mournful adage. It had only been proven wrong a few times, just a few. But oh, what a difference those few times had made. He did. They took the fight up there to them, him and Six. A squadron of fighters, a contingent of troopers, a single frigate, and two Spartans. That was all it had taken to bring down the mightiest warship in the Covenant’s arsenal. Only one of them had walked away, only to be left behind mere days later to make one final stand; just like the countless heroes that had already become forgotten by many, far too many, in spite of the fact that Reach had fallen not a year ago. The arrival of the supercarrier had marked a change in the battle, the moment it turned from hopping about stamping out the little flames of Covenant incursions to a desperate sprint through a wildfire as it burned down everything around you. UPPER CUT had meant to turn that all around, buy the time needed for the fleet to show up and remind the Covenant why Reach was humanity’s fortress among the stars. And for a single bright, shining moment, it had done just that. Except it turned out they didn’t need any reminding at all, did they? Jun found himself walking into the carrier’s debris field, scattered about the mountains like so much forgotten junk. He passed by a blackened section of bulkhead, half dug into the ground after it had been buried in snow. Maybe it was once a galley, or sleeping quarters for some poor little Unggoy cannon fodder. The specifics of Covenant interior decorating had always been lost on Jun, at least beyond where he needed to plant the charges to blow it sky high. But nonetheless, the Covenant’s smooth, tapered death machines were crewed by people, just like the UNSC’s blocky warships. It twisted Jun’s gut, just a little, to think of all the millions who must have died up in orbit. Death on the battlefield, he could understand that. Solid ground beneath your feet, a million places for a soldier to run, take cover, hide, think. Down here you always had a chance, even if it was just a little one. But to die in space, sealed in some enormous metal crate, surrounded by vacuum, outnumbered hopelessly by bloodthirsty enemies, with no chance of escape… It was a death Jun couldn’t wish on anyone, not even a bunch of murdering hinge-heads, let alone the brave men and women he’d served alongside throughout his career. Must have been terrifying, even for the big guy. Not even Thom—dammit. '''Dammit'.'' He realized that his fists were clenched. He slowly released them, and realized that his heart was racing from a mixture of longing, anger, and sorrow. It’s funny. I wasn’t surprised to hear the news about Alpha Company after PROMETHEUS. Suicide soldiers, that’s what we were, weren’t we? We all knew what it would have come to for the sake of saving humanity. Those were my brothers and sisters, and I didn’t shed a tear. Jun gazed up at the dark, menacing sky where the sun was blotted out by clouds that hung in the atmosphere in shades of dark crimson and orange. The air wouldn’t become breathable for a very long time to anyone without oxygen filters. Just another reminder of the devastating battle that left the inhabitants of Reach with nothing to survive on. What made you different to me, big guy? You were bred to live and fight another day, yes, but in the end you still made your sacrifice the way any of the others did—Emile, Carter...and Six. But what was loss, for a Spartan? He had regarded Jorge as a friend well enough, but there had always been that old expectation in the back of his mind...that eventually, his friend’s life would have been spent or wasted in the name of humanity’s survival. That all their lives, IIs and IIIs, were bound to burn for a time and sputter out. Death was a constant companion for him and his kind; it loomed before them, constantly hovering at the edge of their perception, and the promise of its numbing embrace became something to look forward to after their bodies were ravaged by war. Letting go of one’s dead was something that came naturally. And yet, here he was. Emile might sneer at him for such...sentimentality. He wouldn’t have been the only one either. Jun scoffed bitterly to himself. ‘Unhealthy emotional detachment in regards to the consequences of his actions’, huh? If only Carter could see me now... The Spartan stopped suddenly, and looked down as something hard nudged against his foot. It was a dark red plate of metal. Titanium, from the looks of it. The paint was heavily scratched, and pieces of it was burned off altogether along with the fused edges of the plate. Jun picked it up and slowly turned it over in his hands. He gasped as a weak glimmer of sunlight caught the white stripes painted onto the metal, and the numerals 052 stamped into it. He’d always found some way to derive humor from the bulky plating Jorge had been so fond of tacking onto his armor. That gold and crimson paint job, too—it was like the big man wanted the enemy to see him, to know exactly what he was and what he had come to do. Jun recalled brushing debris off the older Spartan’s enormous shoulder pauldron, how Jorge hadn’t even known he got hit. That was Noble Five, always larger than life, always too vast and powerful to pause for damage. When Jorge had come to Noble, he’d brought a sense of invincibility to their ranks; his confidence had been infectious, even if he did tend to be more vocal than they were used to most Spartans being. He was a SPARTAN-II, which had once been somewhere around the level of God to all SPARTAN-IIIs. If Kurt was a mentor and a father figure, Jorge had undoubtedly been a friend. A brother. Jun realized that the white and red were bleeding together as his vision unfocused. His gauntleted hands clasped tighter on the edges of the scrap of titanium. Was this all that remained of Jorge? He didn’t know the exact circumstances of his death. Didn’t care to. The way Kat had described UPPER CUT, what the Slipspace bomb would accomplish...Jun shut his eyes as he thought of what Jorge had faced in those last moments. It was so easy to accept your end when it came in the form of enraged alien warriors rushing toward you; there was relief to be found in the inevitable. Making the choice to end it all, and going out like that...When the right time comes, it becomes easy to take that one-way trip. And yet it’s so much harder for the ones you’re leaving behind to watch you go... He felt a tightness somewhere in his heart as a moment of sudden, gripping pain washed over him. He wondered how this piece had fallen from Jorge’s armor; if it had been blasted away by the rush of Slipspace void, or if it had been cut free by a furious hinge-head’s energy sword, perhaps, or blown away in the heat of a plasma blast. Did Jorge die swiftly and fearlessly, or had it just been the sheer terror of a wounded animal, cornered and helpless and alone? He would never know. But perhaps that wasn’t for him to know. Perhaps it wasn’t for anybody to know. He opened his eyes. His vision cleared, and he swept his hand across the surface of the armor fragment. Just keeping it clean, big man. He gazed out at the devastation that surrounded him. Despite the sense of violation that accompanied the scarred landscape, there was a peacefulness to it all that he hadn’t noticed when he first set foot here. He watched as more flurries of ash blew past him, and released the breath that he hadn’t realized he was holding in. He wished he could take off his helmet to properly take in what had once been a beautiful snowy mountain range. But he knew that the memory of crisp, clear mountain air was just that—a memory. Here, now, there was nothing left of what had been. ...No. There is something. Jun leaned down, his left knee scraping against the partially vitrified earth as he did so. His armored fingers clawed away a few loose chunks of rock until they touched dirt, and he kept at it until he’d created a hole. When the hole was to his liking, he held all that was left of his friend in his hands and gave it one last look. In his mind’s eye, he saw the giant who had called this now-barren place home and defended it until his last breath. With nothing short of reverence, Jun lowered the piece of metal into the ground and covered it with the displaced earth; he picked up the scattered stones and arranged them deliberately, forming a mound to mark the site. He then stood and surveyed his work, satisfied that he had given Jorge a resting place. It was only fitting for Reach to reclaim one of her bravest sons. Someday this world would see a new birth of life, Jun was sure of it. Humanity would reclaim the planet and forge it anew, cover its scars with the green and blue of sustainable environment. Colonists would build their cities and settlements; the skies would again be clear and show the majesty of Reach’s atmosphere. Auroras would dance over a world reborn, and the bitterness of past losses would give way to the sweet, beautiful essence of an unbreakable spirit. Perhaps this was the seed that would someday grow into that dream. Perhaps Jorge would live on not only in the memory of those who had known him, but in the resurgence of his beloved Reach. Humanity’s fortress among the stars, now united with its stalwart guardian. Jun liked to think that if there was a God, perhaps such a deity might grant Jorge’s spirit the honor of watching over the planet he’d sacrificed himself to protect. “I’ll come back,” the sniper said aloud. “I promise.” With that, he turned away from the scene. It was time he moved on from this place. But before he walked away, he couldn’t help the smile that tugged at one corner of his mouth. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to outlive his team, but here he was, and they had left him a job, and a legacy. Maybe finding closure wasn’t about getting rid of his ghosts, but reclaiming meaning from the pieces they’d left behind. Jorge’s spirit would live on here. Meanwhile, Jun would continue on as a Spartan should. I am the vigilant eye of Noble, after all. The least I can do is to watch over Reach, for him and for everyone else who died for her. One way or another, things would be alright again. One way or another, he would make it count. ---- In memory of Dennis Vandall (June 4, 1977—December 16, 2013)